Some of my parts
by beauty's.punishment
Summary: Can two damaged people come together and manage to make a whole?  "Tie me, push me to my knees, make it hurt, set me alight…set me free, help me breathe again."
1. Chapter 1

Some of my parts

**Author Note:**

**Can two damaged people come together and manage to make a whole?**

**So...this is going to be angsty. Bella and Edward have unhappy pasts and a dark lifestyle in the present. There will be a lot of mature content, so if you're under 18, please wait for a while before you read this. There are a lot of references to...(ahem!) S&M activities and lemons along the way. So buckle up because it's going to be an emotional tempest. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Edward and Bella, they are completely and totally the fruits of Stephenie Meyer's imagination. I just enjoy making them suffer :)**

**So here it goes...**

**1,2,3**

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**Prologue – Crawling in my skin**

_My love has concrete feet_

_My love's an iron ball_

_Wrapped around your ankles_

_Over the waterfall._

_**Florence and the machine – Heavy in your arms**_

Today it hurts. I don't know why and what makes me feel that my pain is so bottomless, so hopeless and just…impossible to dissipate. Maybe it's because my head hurts and I'm just in a fucking bad mood. But I always return to the question…Why? Why? Why? Why can't my heart stop feeling this dark absence, need to be hurt more so I can quiet and rest and feel peaceful.

I crave again. I crave for hard blows and rough kneading hands and sharp merciless teeth that would mar my flesh and make it stop. I want the pain in my chest to be outrun by the physical pain that he brings me. I want more, every time, I need to feel my heart beating in a frenzy, chasing away the slow burn of sorrow.

I can't concentrate. I stare at the monitor, trying to focus on something, search for a song or a conversation that will chase my thoughts away….but all I can think about is that he's waiting. He's waiting for me to call and he knows that my resolve will crumble again and it's just a matter of time…Soon it will become too much to ignore and I will call to him, searching, needing his cruel merciless touches so I can breathe right again and run away from him all over again. I fight with my self-preservation instincts telling me not to do this again to myself, that it can't be right.

_But it feels oh so right…Tie me, push me to my knees, make it hurt, set me alight…set me free, help me breathe again._

I need violence. Pure and unadulterated violence. I need to feel it flowing through me and making me pour all my despair out. Wanting to strike back, adrenaline focused vision, to bite and scratch and scream, feeling my body ready and crouching for a perfect pounce. Focus, focus, focus, dark and vengeful and ready to erase all that comes in the way. All the useless feelings and soft edges of my abused soul.

Sometimes I try to do it myself, crossing my arms and squeezing my muscles in a vice grip, pushing my nails through flesh and bending my fingers until they refuse to go further. I claw the skin on my neck and back, biting my lip so hard that teeth cut though worried skin and draw copper flavored blood into my mouth. But I'm not strong enough…and it all leaves me craving for more.

MORE! MORE!

He promised never to do it to me unless I ask it from him. Every time. Nothing is implied. I have to voice it, say it out loud.

"Hurt me…" my eyes burning with tears I won't cry for myself.

_Yes. I need you to hurt me on the outside so I can feel all my scattered pieces clicking back into place. _

And every time I part my lips and curl them around this request, I know, I can feel little pieces of myself chipping away, nothing comes back to me. The dents in my soul. Some of my missing parts being lost never to be found and put back together.

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**I am dying to see what you think of this. So...review away or Bella doesn't get what she craves for :)****.**

**I don't have a beta and I'm looking for one. If you're interested, PM me.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay, there was a looong wait, I know. Thank you for bearing with me, but I really really wanted to find someone to beta this, as English is not my native language. **

**I want to thank Totteacher and ToxicRainfall for beta-ing this. They helped me improve the text a lot. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, and most certainly not Edward and Bella. They're Stephenie Meyer's. The words are mine :D**

**So here it goes…**

**1,2,3**

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**Chapter 1 – Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer?**

_Take, take all you need_

_And I will compensate your greed_

_With broken hearts…_

_**Muse – The Small Print **_

Sometimes I imagine being able to lie naked in front of myself, on my back, eyes closed and peaceful, breathing softly, at my own mercy. I imagine I take my hands and push my fingers through my flesh. And my skin gives easily, just like the soft butter frosting of the best cake you have ever eaten. I can see myself crying, silently and gratefully as I push my fingers deeper into warm and moist skin, the metallic smell of blood tinting the air, heated blood flooding my cheeks, making me burn and crave. When I take my fingers out I leave huge red gaping holes in my flesh, a symbol of the ones I carry around every day, hidden from sight, unknown to all the people I smile at and laugh with, all the people that came and left over the past decade.

In reality, I'm alone, looking off into space and trying to calm my frenzied thoughts. I shut my eyes tightly, clenching and unclenching my fists. Fingers itching, eyes focusing on my phone, my skin and my soul begging, knowing they are a few pressed buttons away from redemption. And I know with every part of myself that battles against the others what the outcome will be. My powerless and ashamed capitulation tries to lessen the shrill need that goes through me, commanding, begging, overpowering every other voice that whispers and pleads to put an end to this, that this road is one I will never be able to come back from.

_So what?_

I don't care. It's not the future I'm worried about. I wouldn't have that to come back for anyway. Now I just want to be able to take a small hit from my favourite drug. And I know I'm just like and addict, promising myself that I'll just take what I need and then leave...that it will be the last time, just this once….because I can't take it. It's too unbearable. I need to make it stop.

_Please, make it stop…_

I can't breathe. Not properly. There's this weight pressing on my throat, chest and shoulders and I have to carry it with me every day, the memories of what I've done and seen and been through. Pain is the only thing that makes sense, it helps me lift all this pressure that threatens to crush me at every step, every little thing that takes me back and plays some random, painful memory in front of my eyes, leaving me reeling and desperate for something to make me forget.

_Please, make me forget…erase my life and let me float in dark oblivion. _

It's not the bad memories that I'm afraid of. It's the good ones that I run away from with all my might, that I would sell and give away only if I could keep only the bad ones, seeking comfort from all the regrets that fill my throat with inconsolable sobs and my eyes with unshed tears.

I used to cry so much, my eyes always glassy and swollen red, brimming with moisture. I would lay in bed night, after night, after night, my face streaked with lines of wet and dried tears. My forehead would be covered with a sheen of cold sweat, fingers curling and uncurling in my pillow, throat sore from wrecking sobs and silent praying, the pain in my chest so overwhelming that I was wondering at which moment it would be too much and something would physically break for good, leaving me despondent and catatonic and just…fucking…_blank_ for once. But I never reached that breaking point, my sorrow only carving deeper and larger, making it harder and harder for my cup of 'enough' to get filled to the brim and overflow. Like an underground river, suffering and despair only seeped deeper into my little black soul making me numb, a bottomless recipient that collects the most painful feelings that humans were given to feel. Ironically, the blankness I craved for _did_ come, but it was the worst thing I could ever ask for because now I can't ever get a break from all of it. I can't cry, I can't reach that point where things just flood to the surface and find a physical expression in my body. Now I feel it deep down, at the bottom of my bottomlessness, constantly pushing my 'enough' impossibly and unreachably lower. I have no borders…I need to feel the pain to make it stop, to get to my breaking point.

_Please, make it hurt…Please, make it good for me._

Just a few pressed buttons away.

I take my journal out of my bag sitting on the floor and I open it to where I have tucked away his picture and I put the image of his beautiful face in front of me on my desk and I stare at it. I haven't had the chance to look at him too much over the past months. He asked me to keep my eyes down in his presence unless he instructs differently and I tried my best to obey. The picture is nothing special, just a portrait but his face is mesmerizing and the way he gazes to the camera makes me lose my breath when I look at the photograph for too long. He's so…alive and he intimidates me, even in a photo his eyes seem to see right through me, intruding and revealing my inner most hidden secrets. I turn the picture and look at his beautiful script.

_For your safety and trust. – EAC_

EAC…I know what the second letter stands for, but I wonder what the 'E' and 'C' mean. I know he hasn't given me his real name.

I huff and turn the picture again, looking at him, looking at me.

_I'm doing a staring contest with a photograph…Coward!_ I mentally slap my self. Then I physically slap myself.

_Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? _

I stretch my hand towards my phone.

Before my brain catches up with my body, I'm already holding my phone, my fingers searching for his name in my agenda, starting a new message, ashamed that this has already become a routine, that both of us know so well and wait for, with delighted anticipation on his side and terrified denial on my part. He and I both know that it won't be too long before I take my phone in my hands and scroll to his name and demand that he chips away even more pieces of my fucked up self. My heart is already playing a frenzied fugue in my chest, making my cheeks burn and my fingers tremor above the keys that could and would compose the redeeming words.

_Hurt me. Hurt me. Make it good._

With a last trembling breath I try to calm erratic beating in my chest, muting all the raging voices in my head, rendering useless the battle with the part of me that wants to save itself. I choose what I'm sure is not his real name, but his pseudonym, Anthony Masen, and type my demanding request, under my middle name, that I never used and never identified with.

**I want to see you. – Marie**

I shut my eyes tightly, and press send. I can feel my teeth biting my lip hard, but I can't stop. I'm trembling, afraid and excited, relieved that my better self hasn't won this time either and terrified that this could have been all to no avail, trying to prepare myself for a refusal, even if he never did refuse me before…But I know this will have to stop at some point, and if I have to be honest with myself…I am not going to be the one that puts a stop to it. I'll always come back for more, no matter how much time it takes, I'll always come back for more.

I startle and gasp when my phone buzzes.

_Okay, fucking hell! I have GOT to calm down a little bit._

I quickly run my eyes over his words, holding my breath.

**Little Girl, you know you have to be more specific. You want to **_**see**_** me? I only aim to please, If I'd known you'd get such urges, I would have provided you with a picture of myself. Oh, but I did…**

I scowl in frustration. I can almost feel the cold teasing sneerbehind his words. He knows what I mean so very well, but he always keeps true to his promise…I have to ask. I know this, but still, each time I hope he will let it slide and let me keep some of my self preservation. But no, I have to tell him what I want from him, shed my last remains of dignity aside and give him his rightfully owned rush, watching me struggle even in asking for what he promised he'd give me.

I know we discussed this when we first met, but I'd hoped that at some point we would get to tango more silently. It took me a while to understand that this is part of it all. He is merciless in everything and this is exactly what I asked for and I can't hope for something that I haven't asked for. That would be just stupid. We aren't two lovers communicating in verses and silent suggestions. We aren't declaring anything to one another, leaving space for interpretation in a few little words. _I want to see you_…I know how obtuse this sentence is, how many things it can mean. To a friend it can mean…'I want to talk about something with you'. To a family member it can mean…'I miss you'. To a lover it can say…'I need to be close to you.'

But we are none of these things. There can't be any space of interpretation in what I ask, because he can't give me anything if I'm unwilling. If I change my mind and my heart, I know he'll disappear, exiting the stage as unbelievably as he entered.

I have to do this his way.

**I want to meet with you and I want you to cause me pain in any way you find suitable.**

_I want you to break me, hurt me. Please, hurt me. Make it good._

I hit send and shut my eyes trying not to let the fear of a refusal grip me in its unforgiving grasp.

_What if he says no… What then? _

The answer comes quickly, putting me out of my misery.

**Good girl. I want you to present yourself as usual, at 123 Whittaker Street , floor 5, 7 o'clock sharp. There's only one door and it will be open. You know what to do.**

I sigh in relief.

_Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so damn good when I stop._

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**This was it…So the girl is conflicted. Wouldn't you be? I promise you'll have the next chapter really soon.**

**Give me some feedback.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's chapter 3 of my story. I want to thank Totteacher and ToxicRainfall for beta-ing this for me :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Edward and Bella**

**So...how did she meet the mistery guy?**

**Here it goes...**

**1,2,3  
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**Chapter 2 – In the spring I shed my skin**

_Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins_

_I have to find you, tear out all of your tenderness._

_**Florence and the Machine - Howl**_

It is 4 o'clock now. I fall back into my chair, relaxing a bit, trying to put myself together, just a little, so I can start complying to the "You know what to do" in his message.

We'd only spoken about this the first time that we met. The only time that we discussed anything, really, and also the only time that we met during the day and in a public space. I had been toying with this idea for over a year. A year of blind pain that I couldn't shake myself of. I knew there was a community of people that liked to receive and inflict pain on each other, consensually. I like to call them legal sadists and masochists, they like to call themselves BDSM-inclined.

_They say 'po-tay-to, I say 'po-tah-to'. Same thing. Whatever._

So one day, I just made an account and wrote an ad in which I tried to explain what I was searching for. I said how I was searching for someone with experience, who would have patience with me and my shortcomings, who would put my mental and physical wellbeing above his egoistical desires. I didn't read anything on that discussion forum, I wasn't searching for networking, but for someone to beat the shit out of me and make me enjoy it. I didn't have to wait too long until I started receiving messages. Most of them were either pornographic rubbish or were lacking in any information at all, people just sending me their contact information. I did receive a message from 'perfectionist' and I liked the way he wrote to me . So I ended up in a cafe, waiting to meet a stranger who offered to give me what I asked for.

I remember my amazement when I saw him enter the door, thinking that he probably wasn't who I was waiting for and he was there to meet someone else. But he looked straight at me, intense gaze roaming over my face, my hair, my clothes, matching my real apparel with the description I gave him. I thought of him as beautiful, tall, dressed surprisingly common in dark blue jeans, dark grey shirt and even from the distance I could see how extremely appealing and strong his features were. Pale skin, strong jaw, thick eyebrows over even thicker and long eyelashes, eyes dark in the dimly lit coffee house, gaze intense and piercing. The only thing that softened his look was his hair, rich auburn sticking at odd angles all over the crown of his head, giving an indication that he either runs his hands too often through it, or he just fell out of bed and came straight here. Nonetheless, from the first sight, I couldn't deny his attractiveness. He _is_ a beautiful man and I had no idea how much trouble it will be for me to handle that.

Only after a few seconds he started towards me, his tall figure not walking, but moving fluidly in what I could only define as a stalk. I had to swallow hard to keep myself from jumping from my seat and finding a place to hide, as he was in the path of the only exit.

"Marie?", he asked me to confirm the name I gave him once he got in front of me.

"Y-yes", I managed to get out.

"Anthony Masen", he offered, extending his right hand towards me, still standing, a gesture so common when you first meet someone, but so disturbing to me in that moment, his face not betraying anything, but definitely _not_ friendly.

I looked stupidly from his face to his hand for a few moments, like I didn't know what to do and it was the first time someone presented themselves to me and made to shake my hand. I was looking at his arms and palms and fingers, his skin almost as pale as mine and it was comforting to find this similarity.

I did eventually shake his hand when my social sense finally kicked in, and the next thing I remember was the feeling of not being able to believe that I was sitting across from a beautiful stranger in an empty coffee house at lunch hour, totally and completely shocked of the surreal conversation that I was having in the daylight with the man in front of me. I didn't know what to expect after the few messages that we exchanged on the internet. Surely, I wasn't expecting anything, but this stranger was something different. I could tell from the way he moved and articulated the words, his posture and the way he carried himself that he was a very educated person. And all the while during our conversation I couldn't believe that I was discussing with someone how they could hurt me in inexplicable ways and make me enjoy it.

We didn't exchange pleasantries because we didn't want to know each other. He got straight to the point and I tried to keep up with his business tone, but I couldn't help myself from blushing and I wanted to hit my head on the table for feeling so goddamn much like a girl. The way he looked at me really affected me and it wasn't helping me at all to deal with the situation. I wanted to smother down all my _girl-in-front-of-a-beautiful-boy _nerves because I knew that was not what this was about. This was not my boy-meets-girl story. Even if I could imagine myself a few years ago blushing in front of this boy only because he deemed me worthy of hearing him talk, I knew that in the real boy-meets-girl story, we would never happen, because people like him are from different universes from people like me. Unless they are brought together by a perverse need to break and be broken, which was the case at hand.

"So why do you think this is what you want?", he asked me, a brow arching over perfect and disturbing long-lashed dark eye.

"Like I told you in my messages…I've hurt myself before, but it just doesn't do it. ", I lamely stuttered out.

His perfect lips curved in a smirk. He was appraising me, searching my face with an all but annoying expression. Like he knew what I wanted to say, but still, he enjoyed watching me stumble across my words, making me a sweaty, twitchy, nervous mess.

"Intentionally? How?" he raised both his eyebrows in a quick movement, only to lower them back down until his eyes were cold dark slits.

I scowled at him. Was he getting a twisted kick out of this? Of course he did…I didn't like to be patronized and was close to say "to hell with it" and leave.

I cleared my throat and tried to make some sense of all my jumbled thoughts, determined to do this, whatever it meant or how much I would have to cringe because of the answers he was prying out of me.

"I…I pull my hair, sometimes hit my head with my fists…hit my arms with heavy objects." I said, looking away from him, staring at my hands fidgeting in my lap.

"I see…Are you doing this when you are angry?" he asked, and I could feel his voice changing a little bit, still cold, but softer. I snapped my head up, looking into his eyes, looking for pity and ready to bolt if I was to find any in his eyes. But his steady gaze didn't give anything away. He just looked at me, waiting for an answer, dark eyes looking straight into me, their colour hard to make out in the poorly lit corner we were seated in.

"No. I don't do it because I'm angered by something." I finally answered, not wanting to give anything more away.

_Please, don't ask more._

He didn't, instead, he smiled and it didn't comfort me at all, the baring of his teeth making a prickling sensation run along my back. He looked menacing and I knew that my body was trying to tell me to run, bolt, be away and safe from this man who could no doubt be ferocious with me.

After a full cringe-worthy interrogation on how I inflict pain on myself, he changed his laid back position in his seat, bringing himself closer to me, resting his folded arms on the table in front of him and started explaining his conditions, his voice low and sensual, making me blush harder.

"Very good. I think we should give this a try. I understand that what you need right now is someone to… inflict pain on you?" he said, his long fingers gesturing towards my body, but his eyes keeping my gaze.

I nodded and his mouth closed in disapproving grim line.

"You have to use words, Little Girl.", he said, slightly tilting his head and I think that was when he started calling me 'Little Girl'. The age distance isn't so big, I'm sure, maybe 7 years or so but it sounded right. I did feel so little and so much like a girl that it infuriated me.

"Yes." I confirmed, surprised to hear my voice so determined when I have never been more confused in my life. Not even when…oh well, I didn't want to go there with my thoughts, not right now. I focused hard on him, forcing unwanted memories away in the background.

"What else do you expect from our…lets say…interactions?", he continued.

"I want a relationship based on respect and of which I want to be able to set the limits." I started reciting from the stupid text I have written in my online announcement. "I don't want sexual intercourse or a romantic relationship, the rest, any kind of pain is welcome."

_I just want you to crush me. Please, crush me so. _

He chuckled darkly at my recitation. "Of course. I understand. We'll go from there." He then started to hammer out the details of our unusual arrangement. I was to initiate all our encounters after the first one which he already had ready anytime I wanted to start, even that day. If he could honour my request we would send me the details of the meeting place. I was to present myself there, freshly waxed and showered, no makeup, no perfume, no underwear on. I was supposed to undress and to wait for him kneeling, head bowed, beside the entrance after I have entered and closed the door behind me. That's how it had been since that day. He gave me the picture of him so I can have an assurance he won't hurt me, but if he ever did, I could go to the police with the photograph of his beautiful face in hand. I knew it wasn't very much, but I wanted this to happen so much, that I stopped pondering the risks. Six months along the way and he had yet to refuse one of my calls. He teased me at times, but was all part of the game and he never left me hanging for too long. In the end, it makes me think that he possibly craves for our encounters too, although I'm not sure if he gets too much out of them.

I look at the clock on the wall. Half an hour has passed. I got to get myself going.

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**Review if I made you curious :D**


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